Sunrising on the Angel of the Night
by Leva
Summary: Demona dreams of a bright and happy future. Wrote this story in 1995 well before the series finale, but it still works fairly well.


"Sunrising on the Angel of the Night"  
--Leva (leva@firefox.org)  
  
Author's Notes: This was written in early 1995 -- by the contex, probably during the Avalon World Tour. It was first aired in Avalon Mists, and I don't ~think~ it's been archived anywhere else since. Found it while I was going through a box of old story disks.  
  
* * * * *  
  
She was very glad to be home.  
Dominique Destine, also known as Demona, yawned, set her bags down inside her door, and decided to unpack *after* she slept. It was two o' clock in the afternoon and she'd been on that stupid airplane since a few minutes after dawn, and she hadn't slept in almost twenty-four hours and she was exhausted.  
Oh, she was so tired. But she and Thailog had been victorious in their attempt to take over a small company that had a big cash surplus -- Thailog believed that he could squeeze quite a lot of money out of the company before it went bankrupt. And they could screw a few humans out of their jobs and wealth while they were at it!  
After such a triumph -- it wasn't often that they managed to stick it to the humans and make money at the same time -- she was in a remarkably good mood, tired or not.  
However, it would feel so *good* to fall into bed.   
This human form had a few advantages.  
Dominique Destine padded upstairs, changed into something comfortable to *sleep* in, and fell backwards into her new bed. Flop. The bouncy, soft mattress cradled her and the fuzzy blanket was soft against her skin. The comforter over the blanket was soothingly heavy and warm -- it almost hugged her. Sleeping was one of those human advantages.  
Turning to stone had *nothing* on the sheer sensory bliss of curling up under warm covers and falling into the embrace of sleep. There were some added benefits to human sleep, of course. Humans slept eight hours; gargoyles averaged twelve. She had control. She could sleep when she chose and was never forced by dawn to turn to stone. She could wake *up* if there was a noise; if her burglar alarm went off, for example, or if someone entered the room. But, on the whole, she simply liked curling up in a warm bed, perhaps with a book of sorcery and a cup of extra- chocolate hot cocoa before going to sleep. (Contrary to popular rumor, she *did* have interests outside of murder and mayhem. Sometimes. A thousand years was a terribly long time to just focus on one topic. She liked Animaniacs, for example.)  
Not, of course, that she would *admit* liking to sleep to anyone, particularly to her mate Thailog. Thailog would tell her how stupid she was.   
But she did.   
And she was so very tired...  
  
* * * * *  
  
Dreaming was an unpleasant side effect, unfortunately, of sleeping. And after a thousand years of a living hell, she had some pretty interesting nightmares.  
But this did not seem to be a bad dream...  
She stood in the shadows. She did not know how she knew the date, but it was three days in the future. She did not recognise the rooftop or the city, but she certainly recognised the two figures who appeared.  
One was Goliath.  
Her heart twisted when she saw him. Goliath...her love, who had promised to be with her always...anger flared. He had not kept that promise! No one kept their promises!  
And then a second figure landed.  
Dominique had a bad case of deja vu. It was herself; her gargoyle self.  
Dominique watched as Demona landed soundlessly behind Goliath.   
Goliath turned, at the rustle of folding wings.  
"You!" he shouted, "What are *you* doing here!"  
She tried to move, tried to leap angrily at the male who she had loved so deeply and who now spoke to her...her other self...so angrily. She could not move. She was stuck in the shadows and she realised now that she was dreaming.  
The other Demona, the one out in the open, folded her arms, hugged her ribs, and looked away from him. "Goliath, I thought you would be happy to see me."  
Goliath opened his mouth, shut it, and looked away. A muscle in his jaw worked. Finally, he faced her, "I do not trust you, Demona. You have proven, time and again, that you are not worthy of trust. I do not wish you here."  
"You still love me." Demona stated, with a tone of utter exhaustion in her voice.  
Goliath's eyes were startled. Then he scowled, "Any love I feel for you died a thousand years ago."  
"Goliath..."  
"Go." He turned his back on her.  
Demona did not leave. She padded forward, wrapped her arms around Goliath's waist, and leaned her head against his back. "I could make you love me again."  
He stood perfectly still, tense, rigid. He made no noise; he might as have been a stone statue for all he moved. "I believe you have already tried that." He growled at last.  
"I'm sorry."  
"I'm touched, Demona." He finally responded, "What do you want?"  
"You again."  
"You have a mate. You have two, if you want to be technical about it. You rather did MacBeth a wrong, I think." Goliath snarled at her.  
She spun away and padded to the edge of the roof. She rested her hands on the railing and stared out over the city. When she turned back to face Goliath, her face was twisted with rage, "He left me! Everyone betrays me! I have no one, no one! Not even another gargoyle! I have no one, Goliath, because they have *all* betrayed me! The captain! MacBeth! You! Everyone! And now Thailog!" Her eyes glittered red.  
"You have earned your fate." Goliath said, unimpressed by her display. His voice shook with barely suppressed rage; his patience with Demona had run out a long time ago. "It is your own doing, Demona. Can you not learn that?"  
The glitter abruptly faded from her eyes. Her mouth opened in sudden, slow, awful realisation. Terrible realisation.   
Goliath no longer loved her. And it wasn't because of the *humans*. It was because of *her*. *She* was the problem.  
It had taken her a thousand years... Her life, quite literally, flashed before her eyes. It had not been a pretty life, but much of the grief had been her very own doing. And she had taken many people down with her.  
"If only...if only I had told them..." Demona sank to her knees, face in her hands, shoulders quivering.   
Goliath paused, taken aback.   
Softly, Demona began to cry. She stumbled back to her feet, turned away from Goliath, and, face still in her hands, headed for the edge of the roof. She sobbed brokenly, griefstricken. She wanted only to fly and fly and fly...  
Goliath took two swift steps forward and planted himself squarely in her path.  
"Who's at fault?" He demanded, harshly.  
"Leave me!" She snarled at him. She wanted no more of him...she wanted no more of anyone!  
"Demona! You must say it!" He persisted.  
"You *know* what I have done! Now I know why you hate me so much!"  
He grabbed her arms, "Demona, speak the truth."  
She looked up at him, eyes gone dark with grief. "Goliath..."  
"Speak, Demona."   
"Everything that's happened is because of ME!" She screamed at him.  
"You have learned something tonight." He said, softly. He released her and walked across the roof. "Demona, I do not hate you."  
"You don't?" She sounded shocked.  
"Hate is neither an answer nor a cure. You should know that better than any of us. Hate only begets more hatred and more violence and more bloodshed." He did not look at her.   
"Could you ... could you forgive me?" She whispered. Begged. She reached out a hand towards him, then let it fall to her side.  
The muscle in his jaw worked. After a moment, he looked at her. "Perhaps."   
It wasn't much of an invitation, but she stumbled forward. She half fell, half threw herself at him.  
He caught her, more by reflex than anything else.   
She cried, bitterly, into his chest. He tightened his arms around her back, wrapped his wings around her, and pressed her head against his shoulder with one hand. "Cry, Demona." He said, softly, compassion in his voice. There was no anger left in her; there was only great sorrow and regret and a deep self-loathing that could be heard her bitter sobs. Oh, she hated herself. Perhaps more than she had ever hated the humans.  
Or perhaps her hatred of humans had been an outer reflection of her inner self-hatred.   
He stroked her hair; he could not help it. It was as he had said once, long ago: she would always be with him. "My angel of the night, we are one." He whispered softly, into her hair. "We are one, now and forever. Whatever may come, whatever may pass, we are one."  
Her head came up swiftly. "Goliath?"  
"Do you think I could ever forget you?" He said, a bit chidingly. "Demona... you are always in my heart."  
In the shadows, Dominique was crying also.  
  
* * * * *  
  
It was three weeks later.  
Dominique knew this, though how, she was not sure.  
She stood now inside a great stone room which she could not identify, which had no recognisable features, but which reminded her of a place she had seen before. She'd been here before. She knew that. But she could not remember...  
"Goliath, you can't be serious!"  
It was Elisa Maza's voice and she sounded furious.  
Goliath answered, in a patient rumble, "Elisa, she has changed. She has *learned*, finally, after all these centuries alone, that vengeance is not the answer. I have seen it in her eyes." He paused and added candidly, "And frankly, Elisa, I am more than a little glad that she's immortal. Her grief is very deep -- she carries more grief than any one should have in their heart."  
"This is *Demona* we're talking about!" Elisa's voice rose several octaves.  
Goliath padded through a door, followed by Elisa. Elisa was animated with outrage.   
"I know." Goliath answered.  
"You can't seriously be concidering letting her return to the clan!"  
Goliath held a finger up, "I am giving her one more chance. I have told her as much."  
"You're mad! She's immortal, but you're not, and she's tried to kill you more times than I'd care to count!" Elisa ran a hand through her hair. "Goliath, I know you loved her, but Demona's a murderer, a betrayer, a criminal. Of the worst kind. She kills for joy -- she's a sociopath in the truest sense; she has the soul of a terrorist! You can not be serious!"  
"Elisa," Goliath said patiently, "I am giving her a chance." He paused and said, softly and patiently, "As I once took a chance on you."  
Elisa opened her mouth, started to protest that *she* had never betrayed the clan, never would, never could, then closed it, and sighed. "I hope we all don't regret this. Goliath." She didn't sound happy.   
Goliath nodded, "I don't ask that you welcome her with open arms, Elisa, but ... would you give her a chance too?"  
"She's tried to kill me. A few times. And you." Elisa pointed out.  
Goliath chuckled, "And you have her tried to kill her, as I recall. Do not worry, Elisa, I shall not leave you alone together until *I* am sure."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Again, she dreamed of the future -- it was three months after she had gone to sleep.  
Dominique stood in a place she knew to be the clan's home; not the castle but a place of sanctuary. The dream Demona sat alone on a beat-up red chair, arms around her legs and wings folded around her head. She was sobbing softly.  
"Hi guys!" An insanely cheerful voice shouted from the stairwell. "I... oh." Elisa stopped. "Uhh..."  
"They went to a movie." Demona sniffed without looking up.  
"Didn't they... uhh... invite you?" Elisa stood nervously in the middle of the room.   
"Yes. I said I'd stay behind to watch the tower."  
Elisa stood uncertainly in the middle of the floor. "Goliath go with them?"  
"Yes."  
"Demona..."  
"Just go away, human."  
Elisa shifted uncertainly. "Look, Demona, which movie house did they say they were going to?"  
Something in Elisa's voice made Demona look up. "What's wrong?"  
"There's a jumper on Castle Wyvern."  
"A what?" Demona blinked.  
"A jumper... some nutcase who wants to commit suicide. Dunno how he got up there, but the Xanatoses are having kittens and Owen looks remarkably dour; the guy got past his security." Elisa shrugged. "We clean up street pizza at least once a week, if you know what I mean... but I was rather hoping the guys would play catch in case the psych squad..."  
"I will help." Demona said, abruptly.  
"You?" Elisa was openly flabbergasted.  
The dream Demona stood up, wiped at her eyes, and managed a shaky smile. "I know what grief is."   
  
* * * * *  
  
It was four hours later.  
"Thank you." Elisa said, in front of the clock tower. "You scared that poor guy right back inside."  
Demona favored her with an evil grin. "He thought I was a demon from hell, come to claim him, and started screaming that I could not have him. I told him I'd just wait until he jumped."  
Elisa cracked up, shaking with mirth. "Demona, that's terrible!"  
Demona shrugged. "It worked."   
"You have a vile sense of humor."  
"Thank you, Elisa, I'll take that as a compliment." Demona's eyes laughed suddenly; she looked at Elisa as if she'd never quite seen her before.  
Elisa sighed, not noticing the look on Demona's face. "Did you see Xanatos' face when he saw us together? I'm not sure if he thought I'd gone over to the darkside, you'd come over to the light, or if he was seeing things."  
"No, but Owen was not amused. I don't think he likes me much."   
They both laughed at that; tired half-hysterical laughter. "Do you blame him?" Elisa asked.  
Demona abruptly sobered. "Elisa, can I ask you a question?"  
"Shoot."  
"You and Goliath... I..."  
Elisa sighed. "Demona, I do love him. He's the best friend I've ever had. But... you are his angel, not I." She shrugged. "We're friends. Nothing more."  
Emotions flickered from the dream Demona's eyes. Relief, grief, self-hatred, embarassment. "I... see."  
  
* * * * *   
  
The dreamscape changed, and Dominique knew instinctively it was eight months later.  
The dream Demona stood on the rooftop. Goliath stood behind her; he rested one hand on her hip and the other on her opposite shoulder in a gesture that was both intimate and more-or-less socially acceptable.   
The others stood there too. The trio. Hudson. Elisa Maza...  
...and a dark-haired young female gargoyle that was achingly familiar.  
In the shadows, Dominique finally recognised the young one as the girl who had been with Goliath months ago in Paris. And now she was sure of what she thought she had seen then...  
The girl was clan.  
And not just clan, but she had Demona's hands, eyes and feet and Goliath's big bones, coloring and hair. Impossible! How was it possible? The clan was dead!  
Elisa was grinning, "You wanted us?"  
"Umm..." Goliath flushed eggplant purple.   
"We need a rookery." Demona poked him in the ribs, and grinned at them. It was a smug grin.  
"*What*?" Elisa gaped. "Oh, congratulations!" And she *hugged* the dream Demona. Eight months had evidently done a great deal to mend old rivalries.  
Dominique, in the shadows, bared her teeth in a reflexive snarl; that was *too* much ... but something choked in her throat. The cameraderie between all of them was so obvious that it was painful. To have friends like that again seemed impossible, yet she was looking at herself laugh and tease and be teased. And be loved. They knew her for what she was, and they had forgiven her.  
She *hated* Elisa. Elisa had stolen Goliath from her!  
But in this dream, apparently, she had regained Goliath -- and Elisa was just a friend.  
*Her* friend, apparently.  
That was a concept so alien as to be outrageous. Even if she could forgive Elisa, which was unlikely, Elisa, she was certain, would *never* forgive her.  
The dream Elisa said something to Goliath that made him turn interesting shades of lavender; the dream Demona picked up on it and Goliath quickly verged on the eggplant color again.  
"So how long?" Elisa changed the subject before Goliath went from mortified to outraged.  
"Three months." The dream Demona said, laying her hands over her stomach. "More-or-less."  
"So *that's* why you two have been staying out so long on patrol..." Hudson chuckled knowingly.  
Now that it had been pointed out, Demona's state was rather obvious. Her figure was normally a bit on the hourglass shaped side. Now, even at three months, her waist was looking just a bit... thick.  
Dominique sighed at the distant memory. By the end of her last pregnancy, she'd resembled an olive with two skinny arms and legs. She just wasn't built to carry an egg the size of a small watermelon. Fortunately, Goliath had been *very* understanding during the whole pregnancy, because she'd been a royal grouch.   
To have another child...  
"I'm going to have a sister?" Angela, who was a bit slower on the subject yet than the others, finally figured out what the excitement was all about.  
"Or a brother." Demona said, smiling a very happy smile.   
"Either way," Goliath said, resting his other hand on her other hip, "This is a day for celebration."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Dominique left that dream with a smile.  
Now, she stood at the back of a room...and she knew it was eight years in the future.   
It was a large room.  
An auditorium. Full of humans.  
Her skin crawled, in instinctive terror, before she realised that they didn't see her.  
It was a graduation ceremony. For the police academy.  
It was all very boring; she stood there for thirty minutes, unable to move, while the ceremonies went on. And on. And on. She had an itch between her wings, her nose was threatening to run, and a lock of red hair kept tickling her eyes. She couldn't so much as sneeze. The ceremony was endless.  
Finally, they got to the good part, the swearing in of all of the new cadets. The cadets stood up...  
...And Broadway was among them.  
When they said his name, the entire auditorium screamed. Above all the other voices, her own rang out from a distant seat across the room, "VICTORY!" The dream Demona screamed, wings unfurling, face contorted in a scream of joy, "VICTORY!"  
The room picked up the chant. The humans screamed, "Victory! Victory!" For five minutes.  
Dominique, in the shadows, was flat-out astounded.   
And then, compelled against her will, she found herself walking out the auditorium doors and into the night.  
The explanation was outside. A reporter spoke into a camera.  
".. few minutes ago, the gargoyle known as Broadway was sworn in as the first non-human police cadet in United States history, to a standing ovation. This historic occasion was made possible by a decision by the Supreme Court granting victory to the gargoyles in their centuries-long quest for equality..."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Fifty years had passed.   
The city hadn't changed, much. The skyline was a little differant; the smog was gone. Manhattan appeared bigger, as if they had built out over the ocean. But it looked the same, more or less.  
A warm summer breeze ruffled Dominique's hair. Below her, in the courtyard of Castle Wyvern, children and adults played,  
Angela's dark hair was streaked through with gray; she and the trio, still as close as ever, were playing penny poker on the grass. Derek, his dark coat faded to white, played video games with a tyke with features that were a blend of mutate and human - - evidently, no cure had ever been found for the mutates.   
And the gargoyle children...  
There was a tall young female with silken red hair past her shoulders and wings like Goliath's. She was playing tag with a handful of brats ranging in age from toddler to ten or eleven human years; she played under the pretense of minding them. One of the children had a beak like Brooklyn's; a second strongly resembled Lexington. They tumbled across the grass, leaping and chasing and yelling.  
Demona knew that the red-haired youth was hers; her second daughter. In addition, there was a young boy gargoyle who was also hers. He was so like the Goliath she remembered from her own childhood that the memories hurt. He watched the game of tag from the sidelines. A book was in his lap, and as the game of tag turned into a game of soccer, he moved back, out of the way. The child's dark eyes were serious and thoughtful; after watching them play for a moment he returned to his book.  
"Malcolm!" A human child's voice shouted.  
The child looked up. A grin split his face. "Dee!" He rolled to his feet and ran across the grass. "It's good to see you!"  
The human girl was perhaps thirteen or fourteen; her resemblance to Elisa Maza was unmistakable. Possibly, a daughter -- or far more likely, a granddaughter. She hugged the young gargoyle, "Where's your dad? Gramma says if he doesn't come see the new exhibit on 'The History of Avalon' at the museum, she's going to personally have him moved there during the day."  
The boy, Malcolm, bared his sharp teeth in a grin. "I believe she would, too. Do you need to *ask* where he is?"  
"Library." Dee tossed her hair back. "Failing that, playing chess with Broadway."  
"Am I that predictable, Dee?" Goliath rumbled behind them.  
"Terribly so." The kid held her ground, arms folded and chin raised.  
Goliath favored her with one of his rare smiles. "Is it not close to your bedtime?"  
"Mom said I could spend the night here. It's a Friday."  
"Very well. But if you're not asleep by midnight, I shall have to tell your mother about the incident with the fireflies in the library."  
"How do you know ..."  
He chuckled softly and padded on to Demona; he enfolded her in his wings and watched the children play beyond her. Her hair, still as red as it had been a thousand years ago, blew together with his own hair, which had gone snowy over the decades that had passed. Together, they watched the children play for many minutes.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Dominique was falling backwards, pulled backwards, back through time. A chaotic blend of images hurled at her. At forty years, Elisa's daughter handed three year old Dee to an adolescent Malcolm and instructed him on the rudiments of daycare.  
At thirty years, young Malcolm perched in terror on the castle walls. Demona's red-haired daughter hovered on an updraft ten feet away and held his arms wide. "I'll always be there to catch you!" She shouted at him.  
He leaped, with a tiny scream, wings thrown wide and suddenly only air beneath himself...  
The child caught her brother, and spun him around, then dove towards the park below.  
At twenty years, Xanatos sighed, and faced Goliath. "You still mad about Sevarius?" Xanatos asked.  
Goliath rumbled a neutral response.  
"Ach, such a tenth century attitude. Well, Goliath, it's been good. See you around, I suppose." Xanatos held a set of keys out.  
Goliath folded his hand around the keys. "Thank you, Xanatos. We do owe you... for the castle."  
"Yes. For the castle." Xanatos agreed.  
Goliath rumbled.  
Once again, Dominique looked at a new scene. It was merely ten years after she had gone to sleep.  
She was at...  
A rookery? There were *dozens* of eggs -- the children she had seen before? She knew that most of them were young...a few years old, most no more than ten. It took ten long years for a gargoyle eggs to hatch. There appeared to be at least fifty eggs!  
The gargoyles, it seemed from her dreams, had regained Castle Wyvern. She knew somehow that the castle was actually, legally, and totally, in Goliath's name, and by human law, would revert to her ... someday. The castle was a gift and an apology, given to them by an old enemy. Xanatos had gotten out of big business and he and Fox were focusing on raising their several children.  
And somehow she knew that it was not just her clan, but several clans, that had joined together at the castle. Nature, along with a bit of fey magic and modern science, had created a baby boom.  
It was sheer irony that now, after all this time, her clan had Castle Wyvern to themselves.  
The first egg, her egg and Goliath's, was about to hatch.  
They waited, in the rookery. There were a dozen people present -- some Dominique recognised; some she did not.   
Dominique, who found herself wishing desperately that this bright future could come true, watched, unable to keep both the tears from her eyes.  
The dream Demona hovered jealously close to the egg. A natural leader, she had fallen back into her old role as Goliath's second a long time ago.  
As a ranking clan member, she was doubly responsible for this egg, this child of the clan. *No* harm was going to befall it -- she'd die a hundred times over to protect it. Goliath, almost as worried as she was, had his hands on her shoulders and his chin rested on the top of her head.   
Elisa stood across the room; she was now now in her early forties. Elisa's hair had a trace of gray in it. She didn't look old so much as dignified. She had a dark-haired child in her arms; a man that Demona did not know stood behind her, his arms around her.  
The man had pointed ears and high cheekbones and amber eyes. The child, too, had amber eyes.  
The others were there as well -- the trio and Hudson; Hudson was now quite old but still looked the part of a warrior. Maturity had given Lexington a little height -- and he had one of the young females from the Japanese clan with him. They stood hand in hand, whispering softly.  
MacBeth was there.  
"Aye, Demona," He said, to the dream Demona, "D'ye think t'will be a lassy or a laddy?"  
"Either will be loved." Goliath responded for Demona. "And cherished and raised entirely in a world where gargoyles for the first time are entirely free. This child will be the first of a new generation."  
Demona's shoulders lifted at his words. She smiled sadly, "They are, are they not? Perhaps our kind shall never again know the fear of the rising sun."  
It was then that the egg rocked twice and cracked. Tiny clawed hands tore at the eggshell. The gargoyle infant kicked and snarled a tiny cry and struggled for five minutes before tumbling out into the world.   
Tenderly, Demona lifted the squalling baby up. "A girl..." She breathed, wiping at her face with a soft cloth.  
"She has your hair, Demona." MacBeth, across the room, sounded amused.  
Demona cradled the infant for a long moment. Tears ran down her face. "My love," She had words only for Goliath, "She has your face and your wings."  
"But your coloring." Goliath whispered.  
Demona turned and handed the child up to him, "She is the first to be born into this new world."  
"What will you name her?" Elisa asked.  
Goliath and Demona exchanged glances. "She is a gargoyle. We need no..." Goliath started to say.  
"Gruoch." Demona said, softly, "She will be Gruoch."  
MacBeth's eyes widened. Tears began to run down his face, "Old friend..." He whispered.  
Demona gave him a brief nod; her eyes had warning in them. She wanted no sentimental displays!  
A look of understanding passed between them. MacBeth nodded, "Aye, Lady, a good name it is."  
  
* * * * *  
  
The noise of a garbage truck on the street below jolted Dominique out of her dreams. She sat up slowly, blinking sleep from her eyes. Tears came as she remembered the joy...  
Why could it not be that way? *Why*?  
Because the humans stood in the way!  
"Victory." Three voices said in unison.   
Demona buried her face in her hands. "Go away." She whispered. "Stop tormenting me."  
The Weird Sisters stood before at the foot of her bed.  
"The torment is yours."  
"It will never go away."  
"Until you live your dreams." 


End file.
